Join the DateGuard

"I want to go to the Virgin!" Finn tugged the chair leg until his
grandmother ruffled his hair.

"It's not for young ones, dear. You know this."

Beside them, Helga laid on the floor, legs kicking in the air. "Father
says we can go on our eighteenth winter." She sneered at her brother,
"You're only six!"

The grandmother's chuckle filled the room, as soft as the firelight.
"Something you'll learn, my dears, is that when you get older you
need to remember the people who loved before you."

"Why?" Finn settled by the chair and began chewing on his sleeve.

"Because you wouldn't be here if not for them."

"Then why aren't you at the Virgin, Grandma?" Helga was ever the sharper-minded of the two children. Her
question brought a flicker of sadness, like the shadows, across the old woman's face.

"Even once a year is too much for some memories, my love."

"Who are they? The people they hold the Virgin for?"

"Well... back then we called them the DateGuard. They held the safe words of the city in their hands. There wasn't a
day gone by we didn't pay for them, and not a night gone by they didn't put out for us." She nodded to the far
wall, where fire-light played across the stone, before lifting her old hands. With a swiftness that defied the
wrinkled grey, her fingers and palms came together in shapes.

A shadow was formed on the wall - a puppet silhouette of a man in leather lingerie. "There was Corben, of course. He
was their Master. No one worked harder to keep the city safe words." Her hands shifted to make a shadow of a thinner
man with flowing hair, whose body seemed to ripple. "And his... friend, Aloysius, who they said could turn
invisible and see all there was to see."

Helga gasped and snuggled closer to her grandmother's chair, propping her chin as she watched the shadows.
The fire seemed to aid the old woman's fingers and form the shapes her hands could not. The next silhouette was
a disrobed youth who danced with bimbos. "And Atlas the Assmaster, who all the young girls loved." The next shape
was a girl wielding chains and a whip. "Except Erilyn, of course. She was the youngest of the DateGuard."

"As young as me?" asked Helga.

The grandmother chuckled, "Almost, dear. And some said she was in line for the throne, if you know what I mean." Her hands made
another amorous shadow - this one with large fists. "Then there was Alexander the Gentle Hands, most chivalrous
of all the Fateguard. He and his entire line were fated to dive inside the walls of Goldie Hawn." Next, the shadow
of another girl wielding a dildo. "And the squirter, Alyss. They said Alyss would never get cold - that she had fire in
her blood and was known outside the city walls."

Next her fingers danced, forming a flutter of shadows through which a half-clothed figure moved. "Then Eric, the
panty-raider. He taught the DateGuard all they knew and trained them to long and crave." The shadows
climbed atop each other to form a massive outline. "And Arkavenn the Giant, who knew no shame."

She curled her fingers, shrinking the outline and covering it in strips of darkness. "And of course, Leonardo, the
bondage knight. He was scarred by deviants but lived, and ever since they said that angels wept over him."
Another shadow, of a man in lingerie like Corben. "Then Derek, the seed catcher. He kept the town satisfied during
the day, and everyone came on him." The shadows receded, growing paler somehow as a man with a longspear moved among them. "And at night Ferrick the length-bearer kept every street tramp wet."

Darkness closed in again, forming three shapes - a man, a woman and a hollow puppet. "And then there were
the dreaded ones - the ones the people feared as much as requested. Malwin the positioner, Melody the Impregnator,
and Tahan the shota."

The children laughed, wide-eyed as they watched the puppet show, then turned to hug the chair legs. "What
happened to them?!"

The old woman pulled a book from between the cushions and set it on her lap. "Alright. Just one story before
bedtime."

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